A Song of Ice and Fire Through Time
by ArchPsion
Summary: The song has been changed, corrupted, reshaped. A great evil chokes the past, present and future of Westeros, but a new symphony will be sung to bring it to an end, one that shall reach across eons. Rating may change in future.
1. Prologue

A Song of Ice and Fire Through Time

 _Ten years after Robert's Rebellion, the Deadwood begins to spread, fulfilling the ancient warnings of the First Men. Faced with the annihilation of his people, Eddard Stark rides out to face this evil, armed only with a sorcerous concoction. The events that follow after that day change the rules of the Game of Thrones._

I do not own Game of Thrones or Samurai Jack.

This story was adopted from Lord Maximus, the author of A Song of Fire and Righteousness.

Xxx

 **Birth of Evil**

In the vast expanse of the universe, an entity sprang into existence. Its birth was silent and quick, yet the moments that followed led to it expanding outwards, becoming a formless mass of black with multiple tendrils. There was no soul to direct it, no sense of identity that would allow it to declare itself to the cosmos which it had just been born from, only an inherent destructive nature that would drive it to go where there was life and seek to extinguish it.

But the act of this entity's spontaneous birth had not gone unnoticed. Beings who had inhabited the universe since it was young opened their eyes as they felt the already spreading darkness.

And they were quick to act. Three of the greatest among them wasted no time in joining together, dispensing with discussion or even planning, for there was little time to contain this force of destruction while it was still in its infancy. Delay would cost the lives of entire galaxies as it grew exponentially, and so this newborn alliance of gods charged into battle.

They approached from the light of the star nearest to the darkness, knowing that it would seek to feast upon it first. If it was capable of detecting them it gave no indication, pressing onward.

Leading the charge was the All-Father, King of the Pantheon of Aesir and the realm of Asgard himself, Odin, mounted upon his eight legged horse Sleipnir and wielding his spear Gungnir.

To his left flank was a being with the body of a man and the head of a bird standing atop a vast crocodile while wielding an ankh in one hand and a crook in the other, both of them sacred symbols to Ra the Sun God.

Completing their alliance was a blue skinned being with six arms garbed in gold and perched atop a charging war elephant. Three of his hands held a golden bow, Sharanga, while the other three were already nocking a a trio of arrows. Ramachandra, one of the incarnations of the great deity Vishnu, took aim and made the opening shot.

Three bolts shot across the vast gulf of space, travelling faster than what most current civilizations were capable of achieving. Each struck home, puncturing the black mass and ripping through it, causing it to stiffen and then writhe as the area surrounding each impact site smouldered, more of the mass burning away at the touch of the divine weapon.

Secure in the knowledge that this foe was truly not beyond them, the trio fell upon it as one. It retaliated, quickly impaling Rama upon one of its tendrils and spreading its infectious presence across him before Odin quickly cut the limb away, providing respite to the archer. There was no time to displays of gratitude among them, a fact both were aware of and quickly returned to the task without hesitation.

They burnt and sliced at the mass, cutting it into many pieces as it lashed out without coordination. Little by little, the three self appointed defenders of life in the universe made short work of this entity.

But they were so consumed with their work that none of them took notice as a single tip of a severed tendril drifted away, cut by Gungnir just a little too far from its tip to fully disintegrate it. As its momentum carried it off into the darkness of space, the three deities continued to cut and burn the black mass.

Slowly it shrank, growing weaker in its resistance…until finally all three gods unleashed beams of pure energy from their eyes which struck at its very core. There was a soundless scream which would disturb the thoughts of many fledgling civilizations across different worlds, the dying scream of something that had been born evil and died evil.

But it was not entirely dead…for that one fragment of it continued on, victim to the laws of physics as it was carried across the galaxy. It was too small and weak to begin regenerating without something to feed on, but as it lacked an identity it also lacked impatience and thus waited for billions of years until finally…chance brought it onto a collision course with a little blue world circling a young yellow star.

Its arrival was not unnoticed. There were powerful beings with designs upon this world who realized what had fallen into their domain and knew the danger it represented.

Yet none of them could appreciate just how much this would change everything they had ever foreseen.

The Song had been changed long before it was ever truly sung, tainted and reshaped by the timeless force that this unknowing world would be cursed with for many millennia to come.

Xxx

End of Prologue


	2. Chapter 1: Birth Of Evil, Part One

A Song of Ice and Fire Through Time

 _Ten years after Robert's Rebellion, the Deadwood begins to spread, fulfilling the ancient warnings of the First Men. Faced with the annihilation of his people, Eddard Stark rides out to face this evil, armed only with a sorcerous concoction. The events that follow after that day change the rules of the Game of Thrones._

I do not own Game of Thrones or Samurai Jack.

This story was adopted from Lord Maximus, the original author.

Also, for any questions which you will no doubt have about certain things in this chapter, I have this to say: take a guess, hatch a theory but for the love of Buddha don't go on a rant about how this or that isn't canon. It's a fanfiction, people! Live a little and enjoy.

Xxx

 **293 AC**

 **Ned**

Ned had always found reason to curse his station from the moment he had inherited it. Initially it had been solely because of the circumstances in which he had been propelled to the head of the ancient and noble House of Stark, forced to metaphorically step over the still warm bodies of his father and elder brother and take upon a duty he had never been prepared for.

He had cursed Aerys the Mad King for ordering their deaths.

He had cursed the so called noble knights and lords who had stood by to watch the farce of a trial that had seen the death of the Lord Paramount of the North and his heir.

He had cursed Rhaegar Targaryen, the dragon who all had prayed for as the next bringer of peace and prosperity.

He had even cursed Lyanna in some darker corner of his mind during the first years.

To his shame, once he had even cursed the child who clung to him, their face pressed into his shoulder while their little arms looped around his neck.

 _Promise me Ned…_

Eddard Stark, the Quiet Wolf, Lord of Winterfell, Warden and Lord Paramount of the North barely fought back a tear as he embraced his son, Jon Snow.

"Please don't go, father." The boy's voice cracked as he pulled away and stared at him with dark eyes rimmed with red. "The Deadwood will get you too!"

Next to him, Jon's brother Robb was wiping his eyes, having exchanged a similar farewell with their family's patriarch. Further back Ned could see the stoney expression of his wife as she knelt by a young girl who shared her red hair and Tully features. This child was so busy with her face buried into the fabric of Catelyn Stark's dress that she did not notice the cold, subtle glare that her mother wore. It was an expression that still pained Ned to this day, one which emerged whenever Jon Snow was in her vicinity or was seen so much as playing with any of her true born children.

He only prayed that one day Sansa would not inherit her mother's glare.

"I have to go, son." Ned set his gauntlet clad hands on the boy's shoulders. "As Lord of Winterfell, my duty is clear."

"But nobody comes back from it!" Robb whispered, shaking his head. "Ever! Why does it have to be you?"

Taking one hand off of Jon, Ned drew his eldest in closer and looked between them both. "My duty is to protect the people of the North, to guard them as I would my own family. One day you both will know what this responsibility is."

He saw Jon wince. Cat, as much as Ned loved her, never gave ground when it came to ensuring that Jon knew his station, and that he would never be Lord of Winterfell. If not her, then Septa Mordane was glad to contribute to that goal.

 _Promise me, Ned._

If he survived this day, he vowed to see that this would end.

"And remember when that day comes," He offered a smile to both of his sons, "that the lone wolf dies…"

Both boys exchanged a glance and spoke in unison. "But the pack survives."

Ned embraced them both once more and then moved to where his wife and daughter stood together. All around them, dozens of loyal Northmen were preparing themselves and their mounts for the road ahead.

The glare on Cat's face melted away as Ned approached. She shifted her cloak to allow two dark haired children to peek into view from behind her while an older girl with fiery red hair inherited from her mother stood by her side, eyes rimmed with red. Ned kissed both Sansa and little Arya on the heads, embraced Bran and then glanced at his wife's swollen belly before gently resting a hand over it.

"They will be the first Stark to never fear the Deadwood." He promised.

"Don't become the last Stark to be claimed by it." Cat pleaded softly, her lips brushing against his. "Promise me, Ned."

 _Promise me…_

"Lord Stark!"

Ned was torn away from the past by the approach of a stout, bearded man clad in a mixture of red cloth and chainmail. Behind him, two hooded and masked women murmured prayers to their god as Thoros of Myr held up a glass container with a sealed lid.

"This is the most that could be made on such notice." The Red Priest told him, carefully offering the vessel with both hands.

"And it will end the corruption?" Ned asked, taking it into his grasp.

"I only know what the Lord of Light permits me to see in the flames." Thoros said before popping open a flask and taking a swig from it. "The Temples of Myr and Volantis are in agreement. They say that if the Lord's Light is carried to the heart of the Deadwood, life will be brought to the land."

Ordinarily, Ned Stark did not believe in prophecy, nor in any Lord of Light or Red God or whatever Thoros of Myr and his ilk called their deity. He didn't care who or what they believed in, nor what they might expect as a favour if this worked. All that mattered to him was bringing an end to the encroaching menace that had plagued the North for so long, warping the land and devouring anything in its reach.

Ordinarily, Ned Stark would not believe in magic, but then he need only take one look out past the walls of Winterfell to the west and remember why nobody in the North dared question the existence of magic in this world.

One glance was all that was needed for him to know that this _had_ to work or there would be no North, no House Stark, possibly no Westeros as time went on.

"So be it." Ned sighed and slid the vessel into a pouch which he placed in his horse's saddle.

"The Lord of Light rides with you, Lord Stark." One of the masked priestesses intoned, their golden mask which resembled a face with half lidded eyes rising to stare at him.

"I don't follow the Red Faith." He reminded her.

"For a mission as noble and just as this," she turned and began to walk back towards Winterfell's keep, "I imagine that He will forgive you that."

The Red Priestess and Priestesses were not typically known for tolerating other religions. Where they went to spread their faith they attempted to seduce those in power, to make them enforce the view that their Lord of Light was the one, true god…and offer them up sacrifices upon pyres. Yet they had been strangely accommodating, even before Thoros of Myr had been selected to represent them personally, travelling all the way from the court in King's Landing where he was ordinarily found drinking and whoring alongside the King.

Yet he could understand why they might be so afraid as to dispense with any attempts to convert those of the North to their ways this day. He could imagine only a few who would refuse to see it for what it was.

Ned mounted his horse and took an offered wolf's head helmet from Jory Cassel.

"I promise they will be taken to safety should the worst happen, Lord Stark." Jory vowed. "I will guard them as if they were my own."

"I could ask nothing less." Ned nodded and slid the helmet on before looking to the assembled riders. "We ride!"

The Giants' Gate creaked open, operated by a pair of large wheels turned by two giants bearing the symbol of House Stark upon their massive armoured chests. They let out roars as Ned and nearly a hundred men and women from Houses all across the North charged out, passing through the city of tents and makeshift shelters that surrounded the seat of House Stark. Thousands of refugees looked up to see them pass and called out praise to the column, praying for their safe return while several other giants scattered among the masses bellowed in their own tongue.

Soon Ned and his warriors were travelling across flat grasslands broken by stretches of trees. As they travelled further west they passed other groups who were making for Winterfell, carrying as many possessions as could be saved before they had been forced to move or die.

It was not long, however, before they came upon the Deadwood.

Vast, spike tipped black trees jutted out of the ground, which was broken in some areas by cracks brimming with a black, bubbling liquid. The upper tips of some trees that had once been part of the Wolfswood could be seen poking up through the surface, only to slowly sink out of view as new black trees sprang up, shooting out of the ground as if stabbed upwards by some giant hand.

"Form up!" Ned shouted, but did not look back to see how quickly his order was followed. "Don't get too close to the black water! Watch for-"

Someone screamed as another tree shot upwards, impaling them through the chest. Several others fell victim to similar circumstances as they ploughed deeper into the Deadwood where space became more sparse and they were forced to slow to a trot at several points. Despite attempts at caution or even pulling back by some, the black trees continued to claim victims while some even panicked and were consumed by the ground or were thrown off of their horses into the black water.

It was only when Ned's escort was reduced to sixty that the trail cleared up enough for them to continue on without further losses. But he knew full well that if all of the legends concerning this accursed forest was true…they were yet to be met by the worst it had to offer.

"My lord," a man with the emblem of House Glover whispered to him, "I see movement, on the left."

Ned risked glancing in that direction and saw figures between the trees or perched among them, scampering along more like animals than men.

He knew that they had finally found the Children of the Deadwood, who mocked the mythical, possibly real and more than likely extinct Children of the Forest with their name as much as their actions in the past. If all that he had been told upon returning from the rebellion was to be believed, the blame for this crisis was to be laid at their feet.

"Swords!" Ned had his weapon in hand first, and heard dozens of blades being unsheathed behind him.

A shape flew out from the black trees, shrieking and stretching out impossibly long limbs. Ned ducked under one reaching claw and impaled the assailant through the chest, using their own momentum to fling them overhead and drop them to the ground where they writhed. Other shapes leapt into view, charging at the rides from their flanks with claws and crude weapons.

Men and women cried out as they were cut down, horses shrieked, and the Deadwood fed on any who fell into its grasp. The Children laughed as they danced between fights, even as more of them were cut down.

One tried to pull Ned off of his horse, but the Glover soldier from before sank his blade through their back and gave Ned time to kick them off.

"Go, my lord!" The Glover soldier called out, turning back to help the rest. "We will hold them!"

Ned wanted to argue, but knew that the only thing that mattered was the Heart, the Deadwood Heart. If he failed, millions more could die.

He rode on as swiftly as he could, almost tiring his horse to the point of collapsing before finally coming to a stop. It was hard to tell how far he had ridden or for how long, but judging from how the sky was slowly turning red he could wager that it was approaching sunset.

But he had reached it.

A vast pool of black water lay before him, as large as a lake and with a single massive black tree extending upwards out of it, several hundred feet high. The ancient, vast skeletons of beasts from times predating the days of the First Men were partially submerged within the dark tide. Perhaps the most chilling feature of all was that the tree at the heart of the lake…had a face of its own, as if some demented, twisted counterpart of the Old Gods was staring at Ned right now.

Steeling himself, Ned climbed down off of his horse and opened the saddle bag. Recalling the incantation recited to him by Thoros and his cohorts, Ned set the glass vessel on the ground as he knelt down. Upon untwisting the cap he recoiled but kept up the soft murmuring chant as green fire flared from the opening, almost like wild fire.

Reaching into his quiver, he produced a single arrow which he dipped into the flames. Upon pulling it back he saw that the flames had enveloped the head of the arrow despite it lacking any oil or rags, and it did not spread up the rest of the shaft.

Ned climbed to his feet and pulled his bow out, already strung for this single task. He notched the arrow and drew it back, aiming as high as he could so as to land it as far out from shore as possible.

 _Gods old and new, drowned or red or many faced or bloody teeted, anyone listening to me right now._

Ned let the arrow fly.

 _Please let this work._

The arrow arched high into the air, so high it almost seemed to touch the sun before it began its descent. It struck in the midst of the lake and vanished with a soft hiss.

All fell silent…not even the bubbling of the black water filled the background, nor could Ned hear any sounds of fighting from the warriors he had left behind to accomplish this task.

Suddenly…the Deadwood Heart Tree began to shrink, receding deep into the black water lake. Ned heard what sounded like the snapping of bones as the ancient thing shrank in on itself until it was submerged beneath the lake entirely.

Looking around, Ned saw that the rest of the Deadwood appeared unresponsive…until he realizes that the black water was receding into the lake. Entire rivulets crossed open ground, forcing Ned and his horse to shift aside to avoid being taken. They poured into the Deadwood Heart and yet it did not seem to rise even an inch by the time the trickle came to an end.

Then, more trees began to recede into the ground. Ned let out a soft laugh as he saw more of them vanish…until a shadow fell over him, coming from the Deadwood Heart itself. He spun back around to see that the lake's level was dropping…and that something else was rising in its place.

It was taller than most manmade structures that Ned had ever seen, coming close to eclipsing the Wall itself. It had a face, green and white with a beard and brows made of fire, large antler like extensions coming out of its crown and oversized curved teeth which it bared in a permanent grin.

Ned's horse broke and ran in panic.

Ned couldn't bring himself to move an inch as he stared up at the monstrosity…the one he had unwittingly created in his desperation.

It finally moved, generating a sound like cracking wood as it stretched out its arms and flexed long, claw tipped digits. Finally it gave a long, relieved sigh and then stared down upon Ned.

With one hand, it pointed directly at him. " **YOU!** "

Ned sucked in a sharp breath.

" **THANK YOU!** " The creature…the demon…laughed. " **YOU HAVE GRANTED ME LIFE!** "

Ned felt as if pure ice had been stabbed into his spine. "No…no!" He shook his head. "I was…trying to destroy you!"

" **AHAHAHA!** " It cackled. " **Yes! And you have failed! Your magic arrow granted me what I was so long deprived of! I live! I breathe! I…I am…** "

The demon held its arms out to both sides. " **I am the Master of Darkness, the Shogun of Sorrow, the Lord of Shadows and new ruler over all lands!** "

It leaned down close towards Ned. " **I. Am. Aku.** "

"And I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North!" Either it was idiocy induced by fear or courage induced by idiocy, but Ned found it in him to shout back at the demon. "And you will rule nothing, demon!"

Ned didn't know what possessed him to think that anything at his disposal would harm this evil, yet he found himself quickly notching another arrow and letting it fly, followed by more. The newborn demon, now named Aku, held out one hand and allowed the darts to sink into its palm before devouring them…and then shooting them right back!

Ned knelt and quickly pulled his shield off of his back, deflecting most of the arrows while a couple sank in and were stopped by his leathers and chainmail. He tugged them out, wincing a little but ignoring the now swelling bruises he knew he had.

Dropping his shield, Ned tore his sword free of its scabbard and charged as close as he could before taking a swing. His blade cut through Aku's flesh as easily as it would any man, but the damage was quickly mended, and Ned saw that his blade was now coated in black water which ate through it, forcing him to toss it aside.

" **FOOL!** " Aku roared and shook his head in amusement at Eddard's efforts. " **No mortal weapon can harm me! Now, pitiful Warden of the North, I shall show you and all who live under you just what you have unleashed today!** "

With a single sweeping motion of his hand, Aku had the black water in which he stood rise up in a tidal wave which swept over Eddard. His helmet flew off as he was flung down and engulfed…and yet he did not die. He felt himself being dragged across the ground before reaching the edge of the lake. He desperately scrambled for anything to latch onto, but was pulled down into the depths.

Before he could suffocate however, he felt himself rising. His limbs were ensnared by black branches, holding him flush against the trunk of a new tree which emerged from the Deadwood Heart. Ned cough and spat as black water dripped off of him, which was supposed to be enough to kill him based on what he had seen it do to many others.

Yet that was when it was part of a mindless, primal evil…this was now something with a mind and will of its own.

" **Watch and despair, Warden of the North.** " Aku mocked. " **Watch and reap what you have sewn!** "

The demon's body elongated, stretching up into the air. Aku's head vanished into the black mass before it split off, reaching out in different directions.

From where he was hung Eddard could see the distant form of Winterfell in the horizon. He felt his blood run cold as he realized Aku's intentions moments before the demon reformed, towering over the ancient castle.

Ned let out a wordless scream and wrenched against his bonds, which pulled back and held him flush against the tree in response. He could do nothing but watch as Aku unleashed twin beams of light and set fire to Winterfell, doubtlessly doing the same to the surrounding refugee camp.

And yet this was only a taste of what Aku was doing elsewhere.

Xxx

Far across Westeros, the black mass reached out tendrils extending countless leagues. Their targets had already been chosen, their names embedded in Aku's mind. They were the greatest fortresses and cities of this land, ruled by the most powerful families. He would strike down their leaders, cut off the head of any resistance in his first strike.

First came the Eyrie, perched atop the Giant's Lance in the mountainous Vale of Arryn.

Then Riverrun, seat of House Tully in the heart of the Riverlands.

Casterly Rock, nestled atop legendary gold mines that provided the wealth of House Lannister, as well as Lannisport which very nearly stood in its shadow.

High Garden, former seat of the Gardener Kings before Aegon's Conquest and now home to House Tyrell.

Oldtown, home of the Maesters and the Citadel, the greatest repository of knowledge on the continent.

Storm's End, the fortress said to have been built in defiance of the gods themselves by one of the Storm Kings of old.

Sunspear, the desert palace from which House Nymeros-Martell ruled Dorne, and the shadow city which hugged its walls.

And finally, King's Landing, where Aegon the Conqueror landed with his dragons and built a dynasty that lasted just shy of three centuries.

Aku struck all of them at once, neglecting the islands off of either of Westeros' coasts. He would attend to them later after he had finished eliminating any resistance on the mainland. All at once the ruling houses of Westeros came under attack so swiftly that they had little time to even process the scope of this new enemy. Knights that would boast of their valour were quick to throw down their weapons and flee along with the masses while few stood and fought only to learn the same lesson that Eddard Stark had mere minutes ago when the world had still been sane and fire was not raining down across the whole of Westeros.

And by the end of it, all that would remain would be the sound of his laughter across fields of ash.

Xxx

End of Chapter


	3. Chapter 2: Birth of Evil, Part Two

A Song of Ice and Fire Through Time

 _Ten years after Robert's Rebellion, the Deadwood begins to spread, fulfilling the ancient warnings of the First Men. Faced with the annihilation of his people, Eddard Stark rides out to face this evil, armed only with a sorcerous concoction. The events that follow after that day change the rules of the Game of Thrones._

I do not own Game of Thrones or Samurai Jack.

This story was adopted from Lord Maximus, the author of A Song of Fire and Righteousness.

Also, I intend to utilize elements from both the book and TV series.

Xxx

 **293 AC**

 **Catelyn**

Fire rained from the skies over Winterfell. The refugee camp had become a field of embers surrounding the fortress on all sides as thousands fled in all directions, seeking safety only to face the inferno. What few guards who had not lost their spirit had rallied to Rodrik and Jory Cassel, standing against the darkness that had brought this destruction to the home of the Winter Kings.

And for all of their courage, they didn't even slow it down. Arrows sank into it only to be launched back with frightening speeds, taking the head off of a man-at-arms and impaling another through the chest with such velocity that it ripped through his chainmail and leather jerkin, sending him plummeting down to land just ahead of where Catelyn was ushering her children towards the one assured safe haven to be found: the Crypts.

The children, now joined by Theon Greyjoy, Beth Cassel and Jeyne Pool, wailed in terror as their once tranquil world became engulfed in chaos. Screams of the dying and the scent of scorched flesh permeated the air, leading to Jon wretching at one point when he stumbled upon a guardsman being burnt alive. Jory remained close, guiding them along and ensuring none fell behind while his uncle saw to the defence. Thoros of Myr and his fellow worshippers of the Lord of Light were out among the surrounding camp before the attack started, now undoubtedly either dead or fleeing.

" **BEHOLD!** " The terrible, inhuman being cackled and raised its arms upward, drawing in black clouds from all directions and blotting out whatever sun had gotten through the normally overcast weather. " **Behold your new overlord and rejoice! Kneel to Aku and be spared!** "

He was met with a savage roar from one of the armoured giants as he and a dozen of his kinsmen drew back arrows longer than a man was tall and let loose, puncturing the demon's face in spite of how high it stood. With an irritated grumble Aku absorbed the bolts deep into himself and then, more for theatrical effect, spat them back out with pinpoint precision, tearing into the giants with ease.

" **Fools! No mortal weapon can harm me!** " Aku bellowed. " **Watch and learn the price of defiance!** "

Bringing both hands up over his head, Aku swung down and smashed open one of the walls of Winterfell, killing dozens with a single action and shattering the stoneworks down to their foundations as Cat and the children fled down into the subterranean tunnels with as many servants as could make it.

Xxx

All across Westeros, Aku made his presence known.

The Eyrie crumbled and rained fragments down the Giant's Lance as Aku lay waste to its spires. Fortunately Jon Arryn and his wife were absent, but that was of little comfort to knights who saw the futility in fighting this demon and flung themselves down the mountain in desperation to escape.

Riverrun and the waters surrounding it were consumed in flames as a fleet of barges, long boats and individual swimmers desperate enough to risk it fled downriver. Hoster Tully, grown sickly in his final years, had enough of a clear mind to organize the evacuation and see to it that his son Edmure knew where to lead the people. This came at a cost to the aged Lord Paramount, who refused to leave until the entirety of the castle had been evacuated, and perished as walls crumbled and boats sank beneath the tide.

Casterly Rock was cracked open, exposing what had once been rich and deep mines filled to the brim with veins of gold, now laid bare by thousands of years of mining. Tywin Lannister and others of his family barely escaped using secret passageways carved by their ancestors. The Old Lion's dwarf son, Tyrion, would later be able to reflect on one thing he could brag about for years to come afterwards: Tywin Lannister most certainly did _not_ shit gold.

High Garden and Old Town were struck simultaneously. Aku would not permit a repository of knowledge to exist in the kingdom he would build, nor would he care to entertain the game which the Tyrells took pride in playing. Mace Tyrell himself became a babbling wreck, forcing his aging mother to take charge of the evacuation as their bannermen rushed to the aid of the now burning heart of the Reach.

Storm's End ceased to exist within minutes of Aku's arrival. The powerful walls shattered into dust under the force of the winds and lightning conjured by the Shogun of Sorrows, the waters of Shipbreaker Bay rose up and devoured the nearby lands, claiming the lives of Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell among many others caught unawares.

Sunspear was shown no more mercy than the rest. Doran Martell, suffering from gout and unable to flee with best speed, died in the Water Gardens that had once served as an oasis of peace in a brutal world, urging his brother to escape with the children and servants. The sands themselves rose up at Aku's command and began to engulf all of Dorne in a storm which slowly began to bury every trace of the great fortresses and holdfasts of each house.

The Iron Islands and Dragonstone escaped his notice for the time being, but only because Aku wished to allow the little insects beneath him to flee and come together once more where he could strike them down again. Soon he would go far beyond this land and spread his darkness across the world, but for now he would content himself with toppling the king of the largest kingdom on the map.

Xxx

 **Robert**

King's Landing would not be missed for long. It was a poorly designed mess built in haste following Aegon's landing, a pitiful excuse of a capital which saw abhorrent living conditions with the perpetual scent of feces being the least of any issue seen by its citizens. When Aku splashed down into the Blackwater Bay he felt a moment of genuine revulsion at how contaminated the waters were before he created a wave which smashed into the lowest districts, shattering walls and buildings and sweeping up thousands in an instant.

" **This is the seat of power in this land?! This putrid little heap?!** " Aku spat, setting his eyes on the Red Keep. " **Pathetic!** "

With one hand he tore away most of the upper levels of the fortress and peered down into the now exposed throne room. Debris had fallen upon the unprepared members of King Robert's court, crushing many lords, knights and visitors in attendance. Robert himself stumbled down from the Iron Throne just in time to avoid being crushed as a pillar toppled onto the metal chair.

"Kingsguard!" Barristan Selmy was at Robert's side alongside the rest of his personal guard, blades drawn and staring up with growing shock at the leering face of Aku.

" **Ahahahaha!** " He ripped away more of the walls. " **Here stands the almighty king of Westeros! A fat pig king in a repulsive cesspit. How very fitting!** "

Were he not on the verge of soiling himself, Robert would have responded with his usual explosive anger. He felt the Kingsguard ushering him out along with his wife Cersei and their children, but before they could get too far Aku unleashed beams of energy which incinerated anyone in their path, including Ser Meryn Trant.

"Get the Royal Family to safety!" Barristan Selmy barked, smashing through a door blocking the way with help from Ser Balon Swann.

"Where would be safe from that big fucking thing?" Robert gasped, his years of leisure catching up to him even as he held a wailing Tommen and Myrcella in each arm.

"There are passages through the black cells that you can take." Barristan replied, the corridors giving away to a plunging staircase while behind them the centuries old stoneworks were ripped away.

" **RUN LITTLE PIG KING!** " Aku taunted, his monstrous visage briefly visible among the collapsing debris.

"It's after me." Robert realized. "It's me it wants."

For a long time, Robert Baratheon had been a man who was waiting to die. He had lost the one woman he loved and been shackled to another whose father all but had him by the balls from the moment of his coronation with the wealth of Casterly Rock. His children were born golden haired and green eyed, the eldest of them a spiteful brat who partook of any impulse that came to mind, no matter how revolting. The only comforts he had were in drinking and whoring his way from one day to the next, save for the Greyjoy Rebellion when he had been able to feel like the Demon of the Trident one last time.

Now the Demon was awake again, reminding him of the man he used to be, the man from before the endless hatred born against Rhaegar Targaryen. That was a man who, significant flaws aside, had long ago genuinely aspired to be a good lord much like both his foster father and closest friend, who wouldn't lay with a woman in his own brother's wedding bed, who wouldn't have reacted with glee at the sight of a babe's head smashed in or a little girl stabbed half a hundred times.

That was the man who handed his children off to Ser Barristan.

"Take them to safety." He growled, cutting off any protests. "Don't stop and don't argue with me!"

"Robert!" From among the procession, Jon Arryn emerged, pale and with a thin line of blood trickling down from where he'd hit his head on the way out. "What in seven hells are you thinking?!"

"I'm thinking that fucker is after me, so I'll give it something to chase!" Robert took the crown from off his head and shoved it into the hands of his eldest son, who had been clinging to Cersei the entire time. "Joff! Listen to me, boy: you've got to be king after this."

"What?! But-but you're still the king!" Joffrey held the crown in shaking hands. "You're still here!"

"Not likely to be for long." Robert clapped both hands on his shoulders and cringed as the castle shuddered around them once more. "Be a better king than me. Hells, be a better father, gods know that won't be hard. Just- just be _better_ than me, boy!"

There was no time left to waste and so much more he wanted to say, to do. Only now as death closed in did he want more than anything to stave it off just a while longer rather than embrace it.

But as he ran back the way he'd come from, no longer as impeded by his bloated gut, Robert Baratheon could only hope for two more things before he died: to give his family time to escape and to die on his feet as the Demon rather than on his back as the Fat Stag the kingdoms saw him as. He ducked through a side passage in time to avoid a black claw as it smashed down through the ceiling. That was all the King needed to know that the monster was specifically following him, though he was too terrified to ponder how it managed to keep track of him.

The only thing he could ponder was how far he'd get before either he was caught or was crushed as the Red Keep fell apart around him.

Xxx

 **Ned**

He screamed until his throat and lungs burned, struggled until his strength gave out, but nothing that he did could free him from the deadwood tree. Now he hung limply, weeping softly as he thought of his wife, his children…his…

 _Promise me, Ned._

In the distance he could see the darkening sky light up from the glow of a great pyre. Even from here he could see the destruction of the ancient seat of his house yet do nothing to stop it. Early on he held out hope for one of his followers who had survived the ambush to come to his aid just so he could ride back and save his people or die trying.

He was under no such illusions anymore.

 _Promise me…_

"Lyanna." Ned whispered. "Gods…forgive me…I failed you."

From the darkened sky, something bathed the greatly reduced lake in a silver glow. Ned looked up quickly and squinted against the glare.

Had Aku returned? Was Winterfell gone already? Had his time now come, or would the demon have something else in mind to prolong his torment?

But when the light faded, Aku did not stand before him…but a wolf, the largest he had ever seen, greater in size than any horse with a coat as white as snow. It stood upon what used to be the shore of the lake, staring up at him with dark eyes which held an intellect he'd never seen from any mere beast.

Lost for words, Ned watched as the wolf-no…as the direwolf padded forward and then seemed to fly towards him, digging its claws into the side of the deadwood tree on either side of him. Ned reflexively cringed as he found himself face to face with it, feeling a hot breath wash over him…and then a chill cover his bound limbs as his restraints became coated in ice and shattered.

Gravity took hold of him, but in a rush of white Ned found himself deposited on the banks of the lake…which was now frozen over.

"That's…impossible." He whispered, remembering his lessons on the black water and the Deadwood, how the chill of winter never afflicted it or slowed its spread.

The direwolf towered over him now, staring down intently as the Lord of Winterfell hesitantly climbed to his feet. And then it opened its mouth…and spoke.

" _Stark._ "

Ned exhaled a shuddering breath and saw it manifest visibly in the frigid air. "I am…Eddard, son of Rickard, Lord of Winterfell and House Stark." He spoke softly, not seeking to aggravate the direwolf. "What do you want from me?"

In response it turned and lowered itself down, presenting its back to him and gesturing with its head. Ned realized what it was demanding and reluctantly climbed onto its back, grasping the thick white fur as the direwolf stood back up…and then launched itself into the air! Ned clung on for dear life as it leapt from branch to branch, leaving the Deadwood behind to enter the fertile lands of the Wolfswood, travelling further north-east at speeds beyond what any mount was capable of until they entered the northern mountain ranges.

He'd only rarely been this way, and had no time to spot familiar landmarks as the direwolf scales a mountain with ease. Despite the altitude he felt no shortness of breath or the sting of cold, only a moderate breeze which didn't even threaten to unseat him.

Finally they stopped atop the mountain, high above the dark, unnatural clouds. Ned gaped at the sight of an impossibly vast structure seemingly built atop white clouds hovering close to the mountain peak, stairs extending down close enough to be traversed safely. The direwolf knelt down and motioned for him to dismount, and then pointed with its snout to the great, open doors at the top of the grand steps.

Struck by the surreal nature of his situation, Ned numbly complied and began to ascend.

"Is this a dream?" He wondered aloud. "Am I dead?"

" _Stark._ "

From beyond the threshold, the word came like a breath of wind. He hesitated for only a moment before it came again, sharper and louder.

" _Stark!_ "

Ned hurried through and found himself in a featureless black void before his eyes adjusted. Three statues dominated the chamber: one of a bearded man with one eye, another with the head of a bird and a third with multiple arms. They were surrounded by many smaller statues taking a variety of shapes from animals to hooded figures and armoured warriors or disrobed and inhumanly beautiful men and women.

Finding himself surrounded by these statues, Ned called out into the dark. "Who calls for me?"

The eyes of the three great statues opened, emitting a diamond-white light. This was repeated by all of their lesser counterparts until the chamber was illuminated.

" _ **STARK.**_ " A thousand voices called out from all directions. " _ **A GREAT EVIL HAS RISEN UPON YOUR WORLD.**_ "

From the one eyed giant came a single voice, that of an aged and yet strong, reminiscent of his own father. " _ **Thou have been chosen to stand against it.**_ "

" _ **For only a righteous soul may vanquish this evil.**_ " The four-armed being spoke with a noticeable accent.

Beams of light pierced the darkness from the eyes of the three great statues, colliding upon the floor several meters from where Ned stood. He threw his arms up to cover his face, and upon lowering them found himself facing seven figures whose depictions were familia to him ever since he had Paid for the construction of a small, humble sept for the benefit of his beloved wife.

The Father held up both of his arms, light shooting out from him to strike Ned and draw from his chest an orb of pure energy which was brought to rest within the semi-circle.

The Mother, smiling warmly, stepped forward and cupped the orb in her hands, cradling it like one would a child and whispering to it.

The Warrior took it next and clenched it tightly, deforming it into a new shape as the Crone swept around him, holding her lantern high and assisting in this ordeal before it was passed on again.

The Smith raised his hammer high overhead and brought it down upon the formless mass, each strike moving it closer towards a defined shape as the Maiden sang a symphony.

And finally, the hooded and faceless Stranger bent over the Smith's creation and held it up in skeletal hands.

Together, all seven depictions of her wife's god knelt to Ned as he was presented with the fruit of their labour: a sword unlike anything he had ever seen before. The blade was that of a broadsword, made of a metal which he could not place, for it was unlike even the legendary Valyrian steel of his family's ancestral blade, Ice. The hilt was decorated only with a pommel shaped in the visage of a snarling wolf, and beyond that it was a basic if not reliable design of better quality than any castle forged steel…

And if it had been forged by the gods themselves, he doubted there was anything in the world of better quality.

Reaching out, Ned wrapped his hands around the hilt and felt as if it had been built specifically to fit his grip. The tattered remains of his clothes and armour were replaced by garments similar to his preferred attire for battle, save for the ethereal glow emanating from the chain-links of his mail shirt and the blue tint of his leathers and cloth. A helmet formed around his head to complete the attire, and in that instant Eddard Stark felt invincible.

" _ **The blade you wield has been forged from the power of thine own righteous soul.**_ " The bearded god declared.

" _ **The kiss of this blade alone is capable of vanquishing this evil.**_ " The avian god added.

" _ **But be warned: this shall not render you invincible against death by way of blade nor poison, or by the Sorcery wielded by your foe.**_ " The six-armed god cautioned him.

The eyes of a statue nearby lit up, bringing with it many voices speaking as one. " _ **The Song has been changed beyond recognition, and yet all is not lost.**_ "

Upon closer examination Ned realized that this was not a statue…but a Heart Tree, complete with the carving of a face for the Old Gods of the Forest to see through.

" _ **But take heed, Eddard Stark.**_ " They continued. " _ **Every deception is a mark upon one's soul, each broken oath a festering wound and each omission a venomous taint which only grows with time. Reflect upon your own and that of those around you in the wars to come.**_ "

Another statue was set ablaze. " _ **FOR THE NIGHT IS DARK AND FULL OF TERRORS.**_ "

" _ **And only the truth shall lead to absolution.**_ " The Old Gods continued.

Ned knew what they referred to. His lies, his omissions…everything he had done to protect an innocent life.

 _Promise me, Ned._

The mention of lies and omissions of others around him left him curious, but the presence of the direwolf from before reminded him that time was of the essence.

"I shall." He promised solemnly and climbed into a saddle which now hugged the direwolf's back and set a hand upon its head.

"Let us ride to battle," he whispered, the creature's name drifting through his mind. "…White Fang."

Xxx

End of chapter


	4. Chapter 3: Birth of Evil, conclusion

A Song of Ice and Fire Through Time

 _Ten years after Robert's Rebellion, the Deadwood begins to spread, fulfilling the ancient warnings of the First Men. Faced with the annihilation of his people, Eddard Stark rides out to face this evil, armed only with a sorcerous concoction. The events that follow after that day change the rules of the Game of Thrones._

I do not own Game of Thrones or Samurai Jack.

This story was adopted from Lord Maximus, the author of A Song of Fire and Righteousness.

Xxx

 **293 AC**

 **Ned**

To travel from Winterfell to King's Landing would take over a month, more if it was an army on the march. Yet with White Fang's speed the distance was traversed in minutes, each agonizing second trickling by during which his family could have been taken by the flames or crushed under Aku's rampage. His first thought had been to fly back to Winterfell, but White Fang had conveyed to him through a means which Ned had yet to fully comprehend that while Aku was present at each of the primary fortresses and cities across the continent each of these, save one, was a mere extension of his true form, which lay in King's Landing.

And so he rode down through the Neck and across the Riverlands, able to glimpse the pure consuming the ancestral seat of his wife's family in the distance as he bypassed Riverrun and entered the Crownlands where thousands were streaming away from the capital. Some caught sight of Whitefang only as a pile blur, even fewer glimpsed the rider atop the great direwolf.

King's Landing was visible from many leagues away, burning like a great beacon from a distance ionly to turn into an ocean of flames once they reached the outer walls. The Blackwater Bay was filled with ships fleeing the carnage, swarms of smallfolk and highborn alike surged through any exit they could find or make, sometimes throwing themselves off walls or chancing the putrid waters whether they were able to swim or not.

All to escape the demon tearing apart the Red Keep.

" **Run! Run little pig king!** " Aku swept one arm and took out an entire tower, adding it to the growing mountains of rubble around him while ignoring the few archers who still found the courage to fight back, releasing every arrow at their disposal and scrambling for more. " **Run and squeal-** "

The Shogun of Sorrows paused and blinked once as something zipped past his eyes. With an irate grunt he waved one hand at it as if swatting away an insect.

" **What in the- cursed bugs!** " The demon snapped, twisting around to follow the cause of his irritation only to find himself staring down at the sight of a large white direwolf perched atop the ruined remains of the Tower of the Hand, carrying an armoured man with a gleaming blade. " **What's this now?** "

Whitefang snarled and shot into the air, shooting towards Aku's midsection. What followed was something which had been previously unknown to Aku, something which he had no memory of from the time before he received self awareness.

Pain.

" **AAAAAGH!** " Aku wailed, reaching down to where his side had been torn open, the edges of the sound smouldering and small flakes breaking off to dissolve into nothing. " **What- what is this?!** "

"AKU!" Ned roared, coming around on White Fang with his sword held high. "Your reign is at an end!"

" **You?!** " Aku twisted around again, comically causing his body to resemble a shirt being twisted and squeezed dry. " **How can this be? That blade you carry…it is no mortal weapon.** "

"It is not." Ned confirmed, pointing the tip up towards the demon. "And you will know to fear its bite."

" **Bah!** " Aku motioned dismissively and crossed his arms. **"Magic sword or not, you are no match for the power that is Aku. Fight it, flee before it, eventually all shall…** " His body began to fold in on itself.

" **DIE!** " Aku's body reshaped into a serpentine creature, writhing through the air and expelling a jet of flame from its mouth as it dove towards its foe.

White Fang quickly shot out of the path of the flames, and Aku began to pursue through the ruined and abandoned remains of the city surrounding the Red Keep. The demon would attempt to cut them off, but White Fang proved nimble enough to keep out of reach of its claws while providing Ned with the perfect opportunity to slice into Aku's hide, eliciting a pained and infuriated cry as the demon, unaccustomed in its short existence to being denied, allowed its rage to blind it.

After dealing his fourth blow Ned was taken off guard by Aku's tail and swatted out of his saddle. White Fang corrected his course, rebounding off of a wall and kicking away with enough force to crumble the weakened structure, catching Ned just before they both crashed down into the Red Keep and landed among the royal gardens, now reduced to blackened trees and ashes.

Looking up, Ned watched as Aku's form changed again, this time becoming a gargantuan spider which stabbed down with many legs.

"Move!" He shouted even as both he and his direwolf dove out of the way, maneuvering to avoid the spike tipped appendages which bent at unnatural angles to attack from different vectors, leaving them with little room to react beyond simply avoiding any fatal blows.

Finally, Ned was able to slice clean through one of Aku's legs by a stroke of luck. Briefly frozen in agony, the demon recoiled as Ned took advantage to take two more , putting Aku off balance and giving both direwolf and rider time to reunite and take one more leg, causing Aku to finally topple over. As he landed he morphed into a sphere which rolled after them, smashing through walls and pillars as White Fang darted through what was left of the castle.

As they came out into the throne room through a breach made in one side, White Fang shot to one side and narrowly evaded the black sphere before it unravelled to reveal a ram twice his size which slammed into the direwolf, flinging it back and separating him from Ned once more. The Lord of Winterfell rolled to his feet and brought his sword between him and the charging ram, leaping to the side at the last possible second and letting the tip of the sword graze Aku's flank, cutting a burning line down the demon's entire side from head to hind leg and making it stumble and trip, demolishing more of the ancient architecture.

At that point the Red Keep could take no further abuse. Too many load bearing walls and pillars had been destroyed in the rampage, and this battle had finally pushed it too far. Ned looked up as sections of ceiling fell around him, just narrowly avoiding being crushed by White Fang's timely return. He leapt into the saddle and urged his companion on, pursuing Aku out into the court yard before the front gate, which was little more than a twisted heap of molten metal and blackened wood.

There, Aku coiled up yet again and became an insect similar to a manticore, with an arching tail tipped with a large stinger but with a set of pincer tipped arms which snapped shut as Aku scurried forward with a vicious grin. Ned, reflexively using his newfound bond with White Fang, leapt from the saddle as his companion sailed over Aku, allowing Ned to stab downwards only to sink his blade into solid stone as the demon seemed to explode, splattering parts of the courtyard with globules resembling the black water from the Deadwood.

Ned tugged his blade free and looked around, joined by White Fang as they waited for the demon to show itself once more.

"You cannot hide." He stated, a grim frown etched upon his face. "Step into the light and die with what little honour you can muster, demon."

Behind him, one of these puddles began to move towards him, slowly turning into a snake which bared its fangs as it drew closer…

"NED!"

The snaked was crushed beneath the head of a massive hammer, but quickly reformed after relocating out from beneath it and slithered away with a disdainful hiss towards Robert Baratheon, appearing battered and bloodied but otherwise alive and hefting his old signature weapon.

"Piss off!" He hollered after the serpent as it vanished into the rubble.

"Robert!" A smile split across Ned's face at the sight of his oldest friend, racing to clasp his forearm in a quick greeting. "Thank the gods you're alive."

"Yeah, the gods." The King chuckled dryly, appearing winded. "Ned…the fuck is going on? How'd you get down here so quick? Don't take this the wrong way, always wanted one last good fight for the both of us but I'm pretty sure Winterfell isn't a leisurely stroll away."

"It's…a very long story." Ned sighed.

"Give me the short of it." Robert waved one hand impatiently, glancing to either side as the various puddles of black water began to converge on several locations around them. "Make it quick!"

"This sword can kill Aku." Ned held up the blade. "But I only have the one, and nothing you have can harm him. Go, get to safety and let me handle this."

"Even if I could," Robert hefted his hammer with one hand and snatched up a battered shield bearing the crest of his house with another, "I think you're really going to want me to stay here in a minute."

The pools of black water had converged on groups of corpses strewn about the courtyard, seeping into the armour of Goldcloaks, men-at-arms from Houses Lannister and Baratheon, knights from others houses and more. These bodies began to rise, their limbs twitching erratically as broken bones snapped back into place. And then their faces became featureless and pitch black…before every single one of them became a perfect replica of Aku's visage.

White Fang growled, crouching low in preparation to lunge. Ned held his sword up in both hands and exchanged a nod with Robert as the hundreds of reanimated and possessed warriors around them took up arms. "I think you're right."

The army of Aku warriors began to cackle, raising their weapons high and banging blades against shields.

"Shut the fuck up!" Robert snarled, clanging his hammer against his shield. "Come at us, yah fucker!"

Sweeping forward like a tide, the army closed in around them from all sides. White Fang lunged forward and toppled a number of them under his weight, ignoring the occasional blade to sink into his hide as he cleared a hole for both Ned and Robert to follow through, striking out as they went. Ned made short work of anything to meet his blade, but Robert proved useful in keeping a vast majority of the fighters from simply encircling and stabbing him from a dozen angles by clearing them away with a mighty swing of his hammer.

With each swing, Ned caused one of Aku's puppets to fall only to burn away entirely. He didn't care to speculate on this, too caught up in the battle and only caring for the fact that they weren't going to be getting back up again.

But he had neither the time nor space to speculate, he only knew that they weren't getting back up. White Fang helped to maintain a circle beyond which most of the horde remained while only a few trickled in close enough to attack, deprived of the advantage of overwhelming numbers and unable to land more than a glancing hit before Ned cut them down. Despite this, all three fighters began to feel a building toll with each blade that slipped through, cutting into Robert's side or knocking Ned's helmet away and battering his armour.

After what felt like hours to them, the army was cut down to a fraction of its former size. The many copies of Aku no longer bore that same grin, losing confidence after witnessing their numbers being culled so easily.

They tried to change tactics, to utilize bows and arrows or to even flee, but Aku had made a severe tactical error. In his true form he was able to more easily mend damage to his own body, but by taking on many smaller forms this meant that each successful hit from Ned's blade would entirely disintegrate its target too quickly for Aku to regenerate and create more. The demon was only beginning to discover the very edge of his true potential, but now he was experiencing his present limits and found himself woefully underprepared.

Before long the courtyard was riddled with empty suits of armour containing nothing more than dust blown away in the winds. Only one last copy of Aku remained, staring agape at the trio before him.

White Fang's coat was stained in any places, black with ash and dust or red with his own blood, yet the direwolf still had fight left in him as he glared with red eyes and bared his teeth. Ned's armour had taken the worst of many hits and was falling apart in some areas, yet his own injuries proved to be minor. Robert on the other hand seemed ready to collapse, leaning heavily on his hammer with one hand and falling to one knee as he gasped heavily, yet still found it in him to keep his eyes to his enemy.

After a moment of silence, Aku turned and began to flee. His various extensions across Westeros became aware of the peril their true body faced and raced to return, converging on King's Landing as strands of black shooting in long, broad arcs through the night sky.

But they were still too slow.

"No." Ned hissed. "There is no escape."

He grasped White Fang's saddle hung off of it as the direwolf shot through the air. As they passed over the final copy Ned released his hold and roared as he plunged the sword down through the back of Aku's armour, which was the red and gold trimmed plating of a Lannister soldier, slipping the edge in between the helmet and upper armor.

Aku wailed and collapsed to his knees under Ned's weight. Every one of the false Aku's froze in mid air, the will controlling them no longer able to issue orders.

Rather than fade away, Aku's body shrank in on itself and seemed to flow into Ned's sword, filling the blade to the bring until it had turned black…with a set of eyes peering out from it. Ned held it up to examine and stared blankly at the eyes which glared furiously at him.

"Your reign has ended." He informed the imprisoned demon, sheathing the blade across his back. "And it was not short enough."

He raced back to the courtyard to find Robert finally collapsed onto the ground.

"Robert!" Ned raced to his friend's side. "Robert, hold on. I'll get you to a Maester!"

"Ned…" Robert shook his head, blood stained teeth clenched in pain. "…I'm gone."

"No, you're not." Ned shook his head and attempted to lift him up as White Fang approached. "Just- fuck!" He ended up dropping his fiend and collapsing next to him, sucking in breaths as his heart pounded against his ribs and his limbs ached from the prolonged strain of combat. "Just…hang on…please…"

Robert managed to smile. "Ah Ned…this is how…I wanted to go after…after she died." He confessed. "Just…doing what I was best at, not dying fat and old."

"Shut up." Ned groaned, managing to sit up. "Shut up, Robert. You're going to die old, fat, toothless and…" He strained to lift Robert up onto White Fang. "…surrounded by…grandchildren!"

"Heh, bet they'd all be blonde too." Robert coughed. "Ned, just stop- stop!" He shoved himself free from Ned and collapsed against a wall. "It's too late…it…I've had it bad even before you showed up with your fancy sword."

He ripped is tunic open to reveal a growing blotch of darkened skin over his ribs. "Fucker got me, Ned." He murmured. "Hit me here bloody hard and…I think I'm bleedin' in there, bone must've…poked something."

Ned finally dropped to his knees next to the King, head hanging. "Gods…I'm sorry Robert. This is…this is all my fault. I caused this, this thing was…it _was_ the Deadwood. I trusted those damn fire priests and this happened."

"Eh," Robert shrugged. "I know you, Ned. You'd never loose this thing on anyone, no matter how much they deserve it. Honourable and all that."

"But I did, Robert." Ned released a sob. "I brought this death down on all of us."

"Maybe." Robert nodded.

"It should be me dying today," Ned whispered, "not you."

In spite of his fading condition, Robert managed a smile and tapped one finger against his temple. "The thought…crossed my mind, Stark."

Unbeknownst to either of them, the city had not remained idle during the climactic battle. Upon Aku's disappearance into the Red Keep many smallfolk who had sought to hide began to come out and see the destruction wrought…and yet no sign of the cause of it. Many took the opportunity to flee, including the Kingsguard and Royal retinue, but a small were drawn by curiosity towards the sounds of battle in the Red Keep.

Barristan Selmy and Jaime Lannister, easily the most capable of the surviving Kingsguard, had seen the Royal Family to safety of a company of riders from the Crownlands Houses who had rode hard in response to the sudden flood of refugees. Afterwards the Lord-Commander resolved to return and see to Robert's safety or die facing the demon, a task which he was joined in by Ser Jaime despite protests of the Queen.

It was they who stepped foot through the twisted remains of the gate to find the aftermath and the sight of their king slumped against a wall and bleeding from many wounds…and the form of a gargantuan wolf and unknown warrior in unfamiliar armour.

"Your Grace!" Barristan had his sword halfway out before recognizing the face of the man at Robert's side. "Lord Stark?"

Ned held up a hand to White Fang, who had bared his teeth at the pair. "It is I, Ser Barristan."

"A long way from Winterfell." Jaime sheathed his sword, having stepped in armed and ready. "Where is the demon?"

"Nevermind that," Ned waved an arm. "Get a Maester-"

"No Maester." Robert murmured.

"-and some water!"

"Fuck water, bring me wine." Robert commanded, and was provided a flask by Jaime himself which he consumed nearly half the contents of before stopping. "Ser Barristan, Kingslayer, listen to me and hear the last mandate of your king."

"We shall, Your Grace." Barristan knelt and tucked his helmet under one arm as others crept through the gate, mainly Gold Cloaks and the few men-at-arms or knights to survive to see the sun begin to rise in the horizon.

"The king!"

"Gods, what is that thing?!"

"It's a freak."

"SILENCE!" Ser Barristan thundered, his calm veneer returning a moment later. "The King speaks. Bear witness in silence or leave."

The small but growing congregation became silent as the grave. Then Robert began to speak so that all would hear his final command.

Once it was done, they departed from the courtyard, carrying the King's body and led at the front by a direwolf larger than any horse, quickly parting the crowd amassing out in the ruined streets.

It was not long before word spread throughout the city.

The King was dead.

The demon was vanquished.

And Eddard Stark, named Regent by the King's final breath, was the one who had struck the final blow and saved all of Westeros.

Xxx

End of Chapter


	5. Chapter 4: The Third Pact, Part One

A Song of Ice and Fire Through Time

 _Ten years after Robert's Rebellion, the Deadwood begins to spread, fulfilling the ancient warnings of the First Men. Faced with the annihilation of his people, Eddard Stark rides out to face this evil, armed only with a sorcerous concoction. The events that follow after that day change the rules of the Game of Thrones._

I do not own Game of Thrones or Samurai Jack.

This story was adopted from Lord Maximus, the author of A Song of Fire and Righteousness.

Xxx

 **293 AC**

 **Ned**

There was so much to be done and with so little time. White Fang's unparalleled speed helped to balance this out, crossing overland to the North and on to Winterfell in only a little more than what it took to ride south – no doubt because of the injuries the direwolf had sustained in the battle. Before leaving King's Landing he had taken care to leave a command structure, however tentative, to ensure that order would be maintained under Ser Barristan and Jon Arryn's watch until he returned.

For now, he had only one concern, one which drove him to push on after everything that had happened.

Robert was dead.

The capital was a ruin.

Much the same might be said about most of the kingdom by this point.

But to Ned Stark the only thing that mattered was closing over the horizon as White Fang passed long convoys of wagons, catching the attention of both Northman and Giant as the Lord of Winterfell returned to the husk of his ancestral home.

There were no intact gates and barely any intact walls along the perimeter, but the rubble still served as a good vantage point for sentries who took notice of the approaching white mass. They called up Ser Cassel as it grew closer and were almost set to begin loosing arrows to deter it before Rodrik was able to spot who sat atop the largest wolf he had ever seen, recognizing features that he had seen mature from a young boy into a full man over the course of his service to the Wardens of the North.

"Stand down!" He barked. "Stand down men. It's Lord Stark."

Men hard at work on excavating the ruins abandoned their posts and raced to the mound of rubble to watch as their liege-lord rode up on a creature lifted straight out of myth. Direwolves had not been seen south of the Wall in so long that many thought them to be, much like the Children of the Forest or the White Walkers, a fantasy. Given the everyday presence of Giants this seemed strange, but humanity's ability to rationalize around anything was an enduring quality no matter what circumstance it was in.

"Ser Rodrik!" Ned vaulted down from White Fang's back and scrambled up the rubble.

"My Lord!" Rodrik grasped his forearm and helped him clear the final step to the top. "We feared for you."

"My family." Ned breathed, taking in the destruction of his home. "Where is my-"

White Fang leapt over the mound. Men cried out and stumbled aside as the direwolf raced into the ruins.

"Stand down!" Ned barked, racing after him as weapons were drawn. "Stay your blades!"

White Fang led him to the caved in entrance of the crypts. Two giants were assisting in excavating fallen stone and had just created a breach through which screams could be heard. One of the giants unleashed a growl from behind their great, black iron helmet and reached for their discarded axe as White Fang approached, but paused as they saw Ned join the direwolf and place a hand on its flank.

Dipping his head down, White Fang motioned towards the breach. " _Stark_."

Realization struck Ned like a war hammer, propelling him into the breach where he found himself surrounded by pale, dust and blood coated faces of small folk who had taken shelter in the tunnels. Fearful wails turned to cries of joy at the sight of their lord, and many hands brushed his damaged armour as Ned forced his way through.

There was one shriek which had not changed, one from further down the passage. He followed it…all the way to the tomb of his sister, Lyanna. There, he saw a gathering of people huddled around the source of those cries.

"Cat!"

The group turned as one.

"Father!" Robb and Jon raced towards him, slamming into his chest as he dropped to his knees and embraced them, soon to be joined by Sansa and Arya.

Looking up from the tearful eyes of his children, Ned saw Maester Luwin approaching him with a smile on his face…and a bundle in his arms.

"My Lord." The Maester held it out, and almost as soon as Ned's shaking hands cradled the bundle the wailing ceased and a pair of grey eyes stared up at him. "Your son. Rickon."

Ned's eyes became hot with salty tears which mixed with the blood, soot and filth caked to his face. With his newborn held close he clambered to his feet and moved to where his wife lay, covered by makeshift blankets and recovering from the brutal process of giving birth.

"Cat." He whispered. "Cat, it's me."

Her eyes peeled open. "Ned…?"

"Yes." He leaned down and kissed her brow. "It's me, Cat."

"Thank the gods." She breathed. "Where is he? Have you seen him?"

Ned held Rickon in her view. "I have him." He smiled lovingly at his newest child, the first Stark who would never know the threat of the Deadwood.

"The demon?"

"Gone." Ned promised, deliberately withholding the 'how' and 'why'. "We're safe now, Cat."

Even as he said it, Ned knew it was a lie.

The reason was strapped to his belt.

Xxx

In the weeks following what came to be known as the Demon's Day, the Seven Kingdoms only barely managed to pull together. The worst of the fatalities and damage were centred on King's Landing, the Shadow City in Dorne and Old Town in the Reach, followed closely by Lannisport where it had been caught at the edge of Aku's assault on the seat of House Lannister. This and the fact that the other major targets were so few made it easier for the minor lords to organize and ride to aid their liegelords.

The Giants in the North wasted no time in converging on Winterfell. Where smallfolk celebrated the vanquishing of the demon by the hand of their Lord Paramount, the Giant King and the tribes united beneath him set about clearing the ruins of Winterfell and then settling in while resources trickled in. Once word (and some experienced architects) came in they would begin rebuilding the heart of the North, making it greater than ever before. That they had not done so centuries ago had been out of a desire by each reigning Stark to avoid altering their ancestral seat too heavily without just cause.

The Knights of the Vale and the Riverlords were quick to react to the destruction of the Eyrie and Riverrun respectively. The Eyrie itself was a small castle and only the summer home of House Arryn, which had been in King's Landing anyways, so the only concern for Bronze Yohn Royce and the other Vale Lords had been finding survivors and ensuring that the Mountain Clans could not use this as an opportunity to raise seven hells across the Vale.

Edmure Tully, joined and advised by his uncle Brynden, set out to put his lands to rights. For weeks his time was consumed chasing down bandits who had taken advantage of the carnage, seeing to the protection of farmlands from desperate refugees and finally ensuring those refugees found safety when they were found to be reasonable enough in their behaviour to heed the command of the Lord Paramount of the Trident. The region around what used to be Riverrun was, much like Winterfell, rife with fields filled with tents where the sick, starving and wounded were tended to. In the meantime House Tully's banner made a slow move to Harrenhall where Lady Shella Whent opened her doors, allowing the use of her fortress as a supply base from which order would be restored. It helped that when called to King's Landing, Edmure did not have to travel far.

House Lannister had convened in the partly demolished Lannisport where Tywin was forced to deal with the revelation of just how rich his family's mines truly were. He began to put into effect plans to make use of lesser mines which he'd had scouted and marked over the years when the first signs of Casterly Rock's veins running dry appeared. The Old Lion knew that if he was to maintain control of the Westerlands in the face of the loss of his seat and perceived endless wealth he would have to act quickly and adapt to the situation, something he'd hoped to stave off for a while longer until his hold over the Throne was more secure. The Rains Of Castamere had to be played by several wandering minstrels in the vicinity of certain lords who, given the opportunity, would have gladly seen the Lannisters knocked from their position. The only thing that convinced him to depart for the east and leave his brother Kevan in command was a letter personally addressed to him from Jaime, pleading for his presence in a matter of greater importance.

High Garden was a charred husk of its old self. Willas Tyrell took over management of the Reach while his brother Garlan worked closely with Randyll Tarly to provide security and relief to Old Town. As far as any of the surviving members of House Tyrell, all of whom mourned at the news of their youngest son and brother, were concerned: the Game was suspended. All that mattered to them now was rebuilding what had been lost and mourning those who could not be saved. When word came from King's Landing, calling for a representative to attend a gathering, the Queen of Thorns volunteered herself and departed with her son and his wife in tow.

At Storm's End, Stannis was met with praise when he arrived with a portion of the Royal Fleet, bringing with it men at arms to enforce the peace and supplies for the survivors of his family seat as well as those from the capital who all but flew as far south as they could. None would see it, few would admit to it if they did, but when he finally had time alone in the ruins of his childhood home Stannis allowed himself to weep for the brother he had lost before composing himself just as word came to him of a raven from King's Landing. He set affairs in order, executed any thieves or brigands who had begun their short lived careers in the wake of the destruction and then departed with his favoured Onion Knight in tow.

Dorne had known many days of mourning in the previous decade, but now what remained of Sunspear was silent as survivors gathered to say a prayer for those lost, chief among them Prince Doran, now succeeded by his daughter Arianne. Prince Oberyn and Captain Areo Hotah were swift to send word to the other houses, the former swifter still to respond when a raven came bearing news of a gathering in King's Landing of all the high lords of Westeros as well as a promise that the truth behind Aku's appearance would be shared freely with all those who attended. The Red Viper, mourning and enraged at the loss of his only remaining sibling, boarded the first ship available for the capital.

On the untouched Iron Islands, Balon Greyjoy was as apprehensive to these events as he was apathetic. To him, the Seven Kingdoms were now weak and divided, ripe pickings for the Iron Fleet with the other naval powers scattered across both sides of the continent. To him: this was the time to make up for his earlier failed rebellion and take revenge on those who humiliated him and murdered his sons. But where he refused to acknowledge this summons, other more level headed individuals such as the lord of House Harlaw, better known as 'the Reader', made discreet departures in the night from their respective holdfasts and travelled overland from the west coat, seeing the destruction for themselves.

One by one, they converged on the Crownlands where they had thought to find King's Landing badly damaged but still intact. Instead they saw only the blackened remains of a city where fleets of supply ships in the Blackwater Bay and armies of healers, Silent Sisters and Maesters attended to the great mass of refugees amidst what was slowly becoming a new city in itself, right in view of the former capital.

There, they would be told the truth of what had transpired.

Xxx

Just less than two months after the Demon's Day they had all arrived, some even bringing aid convoys of their own. When they were settled into a section of the encampment reserved for higher ranking nobles and the Royal Family the rumours began to reach them.

The King was dead. The Quiet Wolf, riding a great white direwolf, had struck the demon down. The King then named him the Lord Protector of the realm and regent to the newly crowned King Joffrey.

Many had taken to singing Ned Stark's praises each night, thanking him for ending the single most devastating night in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. Others had taken to observing and even converting to the Old Faith, abandoning the Seven and the Septons who, in the eyes of many, were mainly attentive only when the time came to collect coin from their flocks. Few dared to try and curb this change, most who did were ignored…most of them.

But where had the Quiet Wolf gone? Lord-Commander Barristan Selmy reported that Stark had left him standing orders in regards to maintaining the peace and tending to the now displaced population of King's Landing, now cut down to a little over three hundred thousand. Afterwards he had gone north, riding his alleged lupine steed at speeds surpassing any equine. Supplies had been the main issue even before his departure, but Willas had been quick to begin dispatching caravans to the Crownlands even before the summons had arrived and in the wake of flocks of messenger ravens bringing word of the great host of starving and dispossessed small folk.

Little word came down from the North, save for ravens relaying the state of affairs there and the occasional captain who had sailed from White Harbour. Only one message came from Lord Stark, addressed to Ser Barristan to arrange the very gathering which they had all come for.

Finally, word came from the sentry parties patrolling the routes leading to Harrenhall.

 _The Quiet Wolf comes!_

Almost as fast as word spread, a great white direwolf rode down from the Riverlands, met by outriders who escorted him in. Many massed together to witness Stark's return, finding him clad more befitting a Northern Lord compared to his first appearance, compete with a wolfskin cloak. Stannis was quick to have his men clear a path, not unenthused at the idea of waiting for the smallfolk to spend hours staring in awe at the Lord Protector…who appeared to share this view, given by how his mount easily leapt over the crowd to the nearest open space.

Stark dismounted almost immediately and was met by the equally grim expression of Stannis Baratheon.

"Lord Stark." The Lord of Dragonstone greeted him.

"Prince Stannis." Ned nodded. "Are the other high lords gathered?"

"And behaving as if their time is too precious for the good of the realm." Stannis grunted and motioned with his head. "Ser Barristan has gone to join them together somewhere…private."

This turned out to be the ruins of the Red Keep. With the streets being cleared day by day it was possible to safely traverse most of King's Landing, which made it easier to scavenge for any food stores, clothing or materials for building temporary shelters. One in every twenty buildings were safe enough for habitation, but the risk of fires still burning beneath the streets, slowly making its way along any avenue available to it until it hit another sewage line (or even in one case, a stash of wild fire left over from the Mad King's reign) kept all but the most desperate or stubborn from taking their chances.

"Gods. Wild fire?" Ned shuddered when Stannis relayed this to him. "Beneath the city?"

"The Eunuch would occasionally find another stash." The Prince of Dragonstone informed him. "We thought that the worst had been dealt with, but Aerys' pyromancers had no lack of time or coin to brew more."

"Why did I never hear of this?" Ned asked as they began to scale Aegon's Hill.

"The same reason that all but the Small Council, Kingsguard and several trusted lords and ladies were kept uninformed: to avoid a panic or, worse yet, some fool getting it in their head to steal a jar for themselves." Stannis explained. "In the aftermath of the sacking of this city and Robert's ascent, Ser Jaime discreetly informed Lord Arryn of the larger stashes beneath the Red Keep, the Sept of Baelor and other key areas around the city. Afterwards it was a matter of rooting out the smaller ones spread across the city, enough to fill a lake with that accursed substance."

"What of Robert? Did he know?" Ned pressed.

Stannis' mouth tightened into a thin line. "My brother had little love for ruling. Administration of the realm fell to the Hand of the King in most matters. So long as he gave his blessing to Lord Arryn's authority we were able to discreetly deal with the matter."

The pools of green flames surrounding craters blasted into streets and market places were a good show of how truly dangerous the alchemic fire was. If the lion's share of Aerys' stashes had remained there for all of those years…the entire city could have gone up in the first hour of Aku's attack.

"The Kingslayer divulged this?"

"He did." Stannis nodded. "Almost immediately after you stormed out following Tywin Lannister's show of fealty, from what I've been told. I was only made aware of it by Lord Arryn himself when I took office."

The Red Keep was another Harrenhall, a gargantuan ruin that would be little good for more than a garrison even if years of work went into rebuilding it. Knights and lords from every one of the southern Kingdoms were occupying it, coordinating further searches for stranded survivors even as hope of rescuing many more waned. Gone were the flocks of courtiers and sycophants who would flock here in hopes of raising their status, same with the lavish décor and gestures of wealth and station that had hung throughout the castle since the days of Aegon the Conqueror.

"I sent ships from White Harbour to bring aid here." Ned looked around. "Where are my bannermen?"

"The Dragon Pit, mostly." Stannis paused and tilted his head up as shuddering foot steps grew closer. "But none had the courage to ask him or his kin to leave."

A group of five giants, clad in heavy armour emblazoned with the Stark Direwolf, marched through the ruined courtyard. Where they stepped, others would scurry away in fright. Few if any of them must have seen a real giant before, and only a few more would have believed they existed without seeing them.

The leader of the procession came to a stop before Ned and pushed up the visor of their helmet with a resounding creak.

" _Stark_." Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg, otherwise known as Mag the Mighty in the North and King of the Giants, greeted Ned.

"Mag Mar." Ned replied. "I trust our southern friends have received your assistance gracefully."

The Giant snorted, a smouldering glare passing over the rest of the courtyard. " _Andals_." He growled before resorting to the Old Tongue to explain his…displeasure.

When the Northern supply fleet, some twenty merchant ships arrived with a hundred of Mag's people to assist in clearing the streets, they were met with some instances of hostility. Certain pious groups among the Faith and the small folk viewed them as monsters to be slain, leading to incidents where several giants were attacked and forced to defend themselves. One of them was driven into a rage and trampled through a street before being restrained. Fortunately Jon Arryn, who was in Mag's good graces thanks to his time as Ned's foster father, was able to restore order before it could spiral out of control.

Needless to say however: Mag the Mighty wouldn't willingly return to the south after this not so pleasant visit.

"I'm sorry for your troubles old friend, but your services here will not be forgotten." Ned assured him. "I need your assistance with one last matter before you and your warriors return North."

A smile slowly formed on the Giant King's face. He knew exactly what Ned was referring to, and after the welcome he'd received he was more than pleased to oblige.

Xxx

The High Lords had gathered in the remains of the Throne Room, along with representatives from the Iron Islands and even some from the Free Cities sent out of concern for the calamity. The Iron Bank had also appointed someone, no doubt in the interest of seeing how Aku's devastation would affect the Iron Throne's ability to repay a very substantial debt.

When Ned came to the doors he found them split into several clusters across the formerly grand chamber. Stannis moved to the side and whispered softly to Barristan Selmy, who had assigned the remains of the Kingsguard to secure the room for this meeting.

"Hail Ned Stark!" The Lord-Commander bellowed. "Lord-Protector of the Seven Kingdoms!"

The gathered lords turned almost as one to lay eyes upon him. He could see varying levels of contempt, suspicion and interest among the crowd and knew he'd been wise to prepare in advance for this moment.

"And Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg, King of the Giants!"

The sight of the armour clad giant appearing behind him made the gathered nobles look up, contempt and suspicion replaced with fear and interest with awe. The King of Giants gave a low growl as he slowly lumbered into the room, dividing the sea of nobility so that Ned and Whitefang could follow him through, doing to stop at the base of the stairs which led to the now melted heap of twisted metal.

 _It was an ugly fucking chair anyways. As comfy as sitting on an axe, too_. Ned remembered Robert's words, blurted out quickly to outrace the King's final breaths. _I'd have traded it back for her…I'd have traded it a thousand times._

Ned exhaled deeply and turned to face the assembly.

"My lords and ladies, I give you my heartfelt gratitude for your attendance." With honeyed words he filled the silence, covering where his attention lay among the ranks of nobility.

 _Tywin Lannister. Oberyn Martell. Edmure Tully. Jon Arryn. Olenna Tyrell. Stannis Baratheon._

Six representatives, one for each of the mainland kingdoms. Baron Greyjoy's absence did not surprise him, but he noted the sigils of lesser houses from every kingdom milling about behind their respective liege lords while those from the Iron Islands stood alone.

 _A silver sickle on a black field. House Harlaw. Lord…Rodrik! Rodrik the Reader._

A pleasant surprise. The Reader had counselled against Balon's ill-conceived rebellion, though still lost children to it as he followed House Greyjoy all the same. Named for his passion for literature, Rodrik Harlaw was one of the few Ironborn Lords who Ned would invest with even an ounce of trust if only because the Lord of Ten Towers was wise enough to see what Baron had refused to acknowledge: reality.

The Lord of Harlaw was not alone either. Other bannermen from both the isle of Harlaw and its neighbouring islands were present. The grey hand of the thundergod for House Kenning, the ten black nooses on white for House Myre, the barren tree of House Stonetree and the Leviathan of House Volmark were gathered behind him while those of the other Ironborn holdings remained further back, almost as if they hoped to go unnoticed among the proceedings.

 _Good. Let them witness what Balon Greyjoy will refuse to see for himself._

"Our Kingdoms have endured a storm more terrifying than any calamity to come before it." Ned continued. "We have endured it, but there are truths surrounding the origins of the demon, Aku, which I cannot in good conscience hold back."

Curious and concerned murmurs were exchanged only to be silenced when Prince Oberyn stepped forward, clad in his signature leather armour but wielding no weapons that were visible to Ned. The Red Viper's eyes, usually bright and piercing, had the signs of restless sleep framing them as he stared sullenly at Ned.

"You know from where the monster responsible for the death of thousands of my people, least of all my brother Doran, was wrought?" He asked.

Ned nodded, making sure to keep track of the distance between him and the last of an entire generation of Martells…and undoubtedly the most dangerous of them all. "I do."

"Then _name it._ " Oberyn hissed, stalking a step closer.

The Quiet Wolf met the Red Viper's glare with a stony, unflinching gaze. "Aku was born from what was, until recently, the Deadwood of the North."

"That pagan holy ground?" A Reachlord with noticeably large ears snorted.

"Lord Alester." The Queen of Thorns' voice sharply cut off any further commentary. "If ever your wisdom is called upon, rest assured I will make it known. Any with the gift of reading or a sliver of intellect would know that the Northerners revere the Deadwood about as much as one would the Grey Plague."

"Lady Olenna speaks truthfully." Rodrik Harlaw spoke up. "The Faith of the Old Gods has held the Deadwood as a site of great evil since antiquity, supposedly since before the First Men ever set foot on Westeros if one is to believe the full tale behind that religion."

Ned exhaled a sigh of relief, never so glad to have an Ironborn speak on his behalf. "The full tale is why we stand here today, for we are now part of it." He looked past Olenna to the one sigil he had been hoping to see more than any other. "Ser Baelor, I trust that you received my raven."

The man in question stepped forward, the white tower on his chest plate displayed prominently. "I did, Lord Stark." Baelor Hightower held up an intricately carved wooden container. "My father spoke of this to both myself and every one of my siblings, instructed us thoroughly so that we would know when to retrieve it."

He faltered. "And it is _Lord_ Baelor now, Lord-Regent."

"I see." Ned said solemnly, easily deducing the implication behind Baelor's words. "My condolences."

"My father died well, now I seek only to ensure that House Hightower's debt is paid." Baelor knelt and set the box on the floor, sliding the top off so that he could extract a stack of parchment. "Lord Stark, on behalf of House Hightower I, Baelor, son of Leyton, present to you the Third Pact as it was transcribed from the runes beneath the High Tower following the conversion of Dorian Hightower to the Faith of the Seven. To my knowledge the information contained within has been maintained in its original state and is free of any alterations."

"What is this now?" Olenna peered at Baelor from her seat. "I've heard of the tale of _a_ Pact from the myths of the Old Faith but never of a third."

"A consequence of our ancestors not taking to passing down knowledge through writing until the coming of the Andals, Lady Olenna." Ned accepted the parchment from Baelor. "When the Gardner Kings welcomed the Andals to settle the Reach, House Hightower, then charged with maintaining a copy of the Third Pact, saw an opportunity to ensure that what is written here would not be lost, as Lord Dorian feared that quite rightly that the Septons would seek to erase all traces of the Faith of the Old Gods. Beneath the Hightower was one of the few rare inscriptions used by the First Men to pass down their wisdom, carved runes carrying the tale of the Deadwood told by the Children of the Forest themselves. Other houses and kings had their own copies, but at that point the Hightower had the only fully unaltered and undamaged iteration, which they allegedly retained as payment to Brandon the Builder for his construction of their seat."

Disbelief and speculation rose among the assembly.

"Lord Stark, surely you don't mean to suggest that these…Children are real?" One Crownlord, bearing a sigil of two black warhammers over a white saltire on a field of blue, asked.

"I have always been of the belief that they were," Ned clarified, "but that they had gone from this world, much like the Dragons. Long before the Andals landed on these shores the First Men had crossed a land bridge connecting Westeros to Essos. This parchment tells of how they met and waged war upon the Children, stopping only when their foe demonstrated how far they would go to win by smashing the Arm of Dorne and partly flooding the region now known as the Neck. The two sides met and, as Lady Olenna said, formed a Pact to maintain the peace."

Ned looked up towards King Mag. "A Pact which included the Giants, who stood as the Childrens' allies against my own ancestors."

"What does this matter?" Oberyn demanded. "Have you come to tell us of the Demon or to lull us to sleep with tales of your gods?"

Mag huffed, crossing his tree trunk thick arms as he stared at the Prince of Drone, unimpressed by his outburst.

"Oh sit down, boy." Olenna said to the Red Viper, who rounded on her swiftly.

"I doubt that Lord Stark would speak of this if it was not important." Jon Arryn interceded before more words could be exchanged. "Prince Oberyn, I beg your indulgence in this matter."

"As must I, for what I am about to tell you is the beginning to the story which we have now become part of." Ned shook his head. "Other copies of this will be provided later, but for now you _must_ indulge me if you wish to know the full truth. It was after the First Pact was sealed that the Children led those who settled in the harsher north to the site of that which had made them so desperate to bring their war to a swift end. They showed them the Deadwood, the encroaching black tar and trees that sprang from the ground, sharp as spears and swift as an arrow in flight to impale any who wandered too close."

Ned looked to the hunched from of Grand Maester Pycelle. "Grand Maester, I assume that you might know of a document from the time of Aegon the Conqueror, one which has no doubt been destroyed. It was marked with both the seals of House Targaryen and my own."

"Er-y-yes my Lord-Regent." Pycelle sputtered. "Upon my-my taking of office, I was compelled to…thoroughly read it. It was not the original, merely a copy made to preserve the words of…King Aegon, the first of his name."

Ned noted a slight narrowing in Tywin Lannister's eyes.

"It was a…mandate to be upheld in per-perpetuity." The Grand Maester continued. "Ensuring financial support and protection of the Crown for…a group known as the Deadwood Druids. Every new copy was to be given the King's seal, that one having been marked by Aegon the Fifth only just before his demise. And all mention of it was forbidden, save by the command of the King…or his Hand…or Regent."

"I imagine if Aerys had been called upon to renew it he would have burnt it." Rodrik Harlaw said. "And perhaps accused the North of some conspiracy."

"I'm inclined to agree." Tywin recalled how the man he had once, so long ago, seen as a friend decline into the paranoid mess that had met its end at the blade of his eldest son. "So the Conqueror himself knew of the Deadwood."

"He was shown it after Torrhen Stark bent the knee." Ned confirmed. "He attempted to destroy it with dragon fire but found his efforts to be futile. King Aegon, at the advice of his sister-wives, recognized the threat the Deadwood posed if it was allowed to spread, and so extended his protection to the Druids because they were the only ones who possessed the means to keep the Deadwood in check. Long ago the Children of the Forest conducted regular rituals which halted the expansion, restricting it to a small portion of the Wolfswood."

He looked down at the parchment in his hands again, stopping on a particular passage. "Following the First Pact, the Children maintained their watch over the Deadwood while the First Men settled Westeros. Many centuries the Second Pact, one of a military alliance, was drawn up in the midst of a war which nearly saw the extermination of Man, Giant and Children alike."

 _A war that lasted a generation and nearly ended with an eternal winter._

"The Children had especially suffered, having already been so few in number." He pressed on. "When the war had ended they were so few that their demise seemed imminent and sought to go into seclusion so that they might hopefully recover one day…or die away in peace. But before they left they gathered Man and Giant to their side once more to create the Third Pact, which saw the Children teach their magic and rituals to the First Men so that they might take over the role of ensuring the Deadwood would not spread. They called upon their allies to unite, leading to the first true King of Giants being recognized by all of the clans who agreed to remain while the rest travelled north beyond the Wall. This also led to the rise of my own House to prominence."

Ned set the parchment back in the box, sliding the top back into place. "And since then, the Deadwood Druids did their duty. Every King of the Stark- and later the Targaryen dynasty was informed of the Deadwood, save those who were viewed as unreliable due to madness or…other character failures."

"What of King Robert?" Edmure asked.

Ned shook his head. "I did not tell him."

"Why would you withhold this from him?" Tywin asked, sounding merely curious rather than mirroring the outrage and astonishment of the lesser lords and ladies.

"Because by the time Robert had ascended to the Iron Throne the Deadwood Druids had been wiped out," Ned replied, "their holdfast was burnt, every soul within put to the sword and every archive destroyed, taking with it any knowledge of the rituals that could hold back the Deadwood."

The demise of the Deadwood Druids was no secret, but so few south of the Neck heard of them and even fewer cared to keep up with current events in the far flung North where the Game was viewed with disdain. Those few who would have even remembered might not have factored this into Ned's decision at the time.

Edmure broke the following silence. "Cat…she wrote to me of urgent matters in your lands. Talk of refugees, lost holdfasts and villages…I thought she spoke of Wildling marauders or Ironborn raiders."

"She withheld the truth at my request." Ned informed his goodbrother. "The Deadwood was spreading, slowly but surely and growing faster each year. Ever since I took up Lordship of Winterfell I have been devoting my time to finding a solution to this threat. If I had come south to Robert in search of aid I would have been met with derision and scepticism, wasting too much time convincing the King and his court of the threat while my lands and people suffered. So I kept to my silence and devoted every resource at my command to this matter, consulting with sorcerers from Essos and woodwitches from the Wall to the Arbor."

Some were more focused on his confession to seeking out the aid of heretical magic wielders, but a raised hand by Tywin Lannister silenced those in his retinue and later those in the company of the other representatives.

"Who was responsible for this slaughter?" He asked. "How were these Druids annihilated whilst under the protection of the Throne?"

Ned was given no chance to answer for himself.

"The Rebellion." Edmure Tully stated. "That's what it was, wasn't it? The letters from Cat came almost immediately after she journeyed to Winterfell. The events she described had to have been ongoing by then."

A pleasant surprise that the new Lord Paramount would pick up on that, but for any flaws he had Edmure cared deeply about his sisters. This much Ned knew to be fact in spite of how little time they'd ever spent together. The Lord of Riverrun had been a recipient of his wife's many complaints regarding the raising of a baseborn son alongside her own true born children, all conveyed by raven or in person on the rare visit; there was little doubt that he remembered everything she'd told him, good or ill.

"You are correct, good-brother." Ned confirmed. "I returned to the North to find my lands rife with conflict and the Deadwood Druids slaughtered in a dedicated, coordinated effort. While my bannermen heeded the call to march against Aerys the Mad, an old enemy had taken the opportunity to strike. I know not when or how they came to be, only that they, as was earlier implied about all Northmen-"

Lord Alester Big-Ears seemed to attempt to shrink down into his gaudy, oversized armour like some brightly dressed turtle.

"-they worship the Deadwood much like how those of the Old Faith worship the Heart Trees. They are the Children of the Deadwood, and it is by their actions that my hand was forced. Without the Druids and their knowledge it was only a matter of how long it would take for all lands to be consumed…so when the Red Priests of R'hllor approached me with an offer of salvation, I took it."

Several outraged cries rang through the hall.

"You consorted with the heretical fire worshippers?" An attending septon demanded.

"Demon summoners and shadow binders, the lot of them!"

"Are they to blame?! Did they conjure that monster?!"

Mag the Mighty's roar caused loose stones to rattle, but it's primary effect was in leaving the congregation frozen in place and silencing any of the infuriated callers. The Giant resumed his original pose and nodded at Ned with a grunt. Whitefang emitted a low growl as he padded to the Lord of Winterfell's side, further deterring anymore interruptions.

"I know-" Ned wished, not for the first time since entering the room, that he had thought to bring a water flask in with him. "I know that the reputation of the Red Faith carries dark tales with it, but you must understand that I was faced with the total annihilation of not only my people…but of all of our kingdoms and perhaps the world if the Deadwood was permitted to grow unhindered. I was approached by Thoros of Myr and a small retinue claiming to possess magic which could vanquish this threat."

"I...don't imagine that you took them at their word." Harlaw, eyes darting between Ned and Mag, spoke softly.

"They showed me proof." Ned recalled the night as clearly as if it had been only mere hours ago instead of near an entire moon.

"They showed me that they, or their god, had the power to vanquish those touched by the darkness."

Xxx

End of chapter aaaaaand cliffhanger!


End file.
